


Smeared Lipstick

by aurora_australis



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Mild Allusions to Violence, Post-Canon, Suspense, case fic adjacent, like really adjacent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-04 16:14:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18608038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurora_australis/pseuds/aurora_australis
Summary: Four months after she flew off to England, Phryne returns to find a ruthless new gang, a compromised undercover operation, and a missing Detective Inspector.The case is personal and the stakes are high.And the clock is ticking.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All the thanks to Fire_Sign for her truly incredible help throughout.

_Hello Jack STOP_

_Ship docks Friday STOP_

_Expect you for dinner 6pm sharp STOP_

_Done waltzing darling STOP_

_HPF_

\---------------------

Phryne leaned back in her chair, her feet on the small table in front of her, and smiled. Surveying the room, she was surprisingly pleased to see that almost nothing had changed in the four months she had been away from home.

_Home_.

She had slept soundly on the ship the night before, peaceful in the knowledge of what lay just beyond the horizon. A long soak once she had arrived back at Wardlow, and a change of clothes far more her taste than the capricious fashions of London, and Phryne found herself, for the first time in months, at peace. 

She was home.

It had been an adventure, certainly, and exciting in its own way, but this was an adventure too, and she much preferred the company here. Brave Dot and fierce Mac and clever Jane and kind Mr Butler and sweet Hugh and tenacious Aunt P. 

And Jack. 

Definitely Jack.

She looked at the clock. Half one. She lifted her tea cup to her lips and hid a smile behind the porcelain. Not long now. She had plans for afternoon drinks soon and would be suitably distracted until his arrival. She wasn’t worried he’d make her wait; Jack was always on time.

She was just considering a new book to pass the remaining hour when there was a knock at the door. A policeman’s knock. The smile burst past the tea cup and lit up the room.

“Jack,” she whispered to herself. Then, louder, “I’ve got it Mr B!” She raced from the parlour to the front door.

“Very good, Miss,” called a voice from the kitchen.

Phryne flung open the door. “Couldn’t wait until six, I - ”

On the other side was a very serious looking Hugh Collins.

“Hugh!” Phryne tried to hide her disappointment. “What a pleasant surprise. But I’m afraid Dot’s already returned home. Something about - ”

“Actually, it’s you I’ve come to see, Miss Fisher. May I come in?”

Looking back later, Hugh’s uncharacteristic interruption was her first clue that something was very, very wrong. 

“Of course,” she replied with a too bright smile.

Phryne moved out of the way and let Hugh enter. He removed his helmet and then stood there awkwardly for a moment before Phryne gestured to the parlour.

“Please, have a seat.”

He nodded, then followed her into the familiar turquoise room. Phryne reclaimed the seat she had just vacated, feet on the floor this time, and Hugh sat across from her.

Phryne was just about to offer him tea when she noticed him looking around.

“Lose something, Hugh?” she ask, humour laced through her tone.

“I’m sorry, Miss, is the… is the Inspector here?”

Phryne cocked her face to the side, smiling at Hugh. “Why would the Inspector be here?”

“I had hoped…” Hugh sighed, then reached into his pocket. He removed a telegram, already opened, and handed it to Phryne. She glanced at the message, _her_ message, eyebrows raising in surprise as she did. 

Handing it back to him, Phryne’s smile turned tight with a hint of irritation - focusing on the fact that Hugh had been so bold was much easier than focusing on _why_ he had felt it necessary.

“Reading the Inspector’s correspondence, Hugh? That’s not like you.”

“I was hoping it was from him.”

“Why would the Inspector be sending himself telegrams?”

Hugh sighed, putting the paper back in his pocket. “Perhaps I should start at the beginning.”

Phryne leaned back in her chair, coolly surveying him. “Yes, I very much think you should.”

“The Inspector is on assignment. Undercover. There’s a gang, they’ve sort of appeared in Melbourne over the last year. They’re… vicious. Call themselves the Second Fleet.”

Phryne’s eyebrows furrowed. “As allusion to the First Fleet, I assume?”

“Yes, apparently their leader is a bit pretentious as well a right bas- uh, nasty fellow. Says it’s past time for a new order in Australia. Hence, the _Second_ Fleet. Anyway they arrived about a year ago and since then… they’re smart. We haven’t been able to get them on anything. A petty offence here and there, but we’re no closer to the ring leaders than we were a year ago.”

Phryne nodded absently, dutifully filing the information away even as she grew anxious to find out what this had to do with Jack. Hugh continued on. 

“But about two months ago one of the Inspector’s confidential informants says he’s got in good with the Fleerters through a mutual acquaintance. And it turns out they’re looking for a new accountant. Apparently the old one was skimming off the top and… well the less said the better, but now there was an opening. The Inspector’s always had a head for numbers so the top brass decided to send him in. Undercover.”

“I see… so this fizgig introduces the Inspector to the leadership and they decide to hire him?”

“Yes, Miss. Small jobs at first, but he moved up pretty quickly and now he’s managing most of their accounts. Apparently Archie Mills made quite the impression.”

Phryne smiled, just a little, at that. Archie. Of course. “And the Inspector has been undercover all this time?” she asked.

“For about the last six weeks. Like I said, they’re smart, and it’s taking time to build a case. They even change their headquarters every few days. Rotate between their properties, abandoned properties, anywhere really. The Inspector’s been staying at a rented flat in Carlton. When they need him, they pick him up and take him to wherever they’re currently based. And at the end of the day they search him before he leaves.”

_Lucky crims._ The quip was on the tip of Phryne’s tongue, but the uncommonly hard look on Hugh’s face stopped her short.

“The Inspector's working to gather evidence we can use to roll up the whole operation at once. And he’s close too. He’s got messages to us a few times now. But today…” Hugh trailed off and grimaced. Truthfully, he looked a little sick.

“What happened today, Hugh?” Phryne pulled her sweater a little tighter, surprised to realize she had become chilled as he spoke.

“There’s this bloke, Marty Echols, higher-level Fleeter. We got him on assault about six months ago and managed to make the charges stick.” Hugh handed her the file he had been holding with the man’s mugshot and arrest report. “But this morning…” Hugh took a deep breath. “This morning he was accidentally released. Some mix up at the City Gaol. I only found out because the report came through City South.”

Phryne looked up from perusing the file. “I don’t understand, Hugh, what does that have to - ”

“The Inspector is the one who arrested him.”

“Oh.”

A snippet of his last letter, delivered to the consulate in India she’d told him to write after her departure from London, flashed through her mind.

_I am not enjoying my current assignment, but I am still selfish enough to wish you were here. While I do not require your assistance, I do value your council, and find I miss it terribly._

Those words had burned bright in her mind and warm in her heart as she’d continued her journey home, but now left her feeling cold. She had assumed he found whatever he was working on boring or taxing, not dangerous. The next line - what she had thought was an allusion to her distracting presence - now took on a very different meaning. 

_Another part of me, a baser part, is very glad you are far, far away_. 

“So Echols can identify Jack as police.” It was a statement, not a question, and it almost hurt to say.

Hugh nodded and looked down. “This gang, Miss, they’re smart and careful and exceptionally… brutal. Gang members who leave end up in pieces in the Yarra. The ones who try to snitch never get found at all. I really don’t want to contemplate what would happen to an undercover police officer.” He looked up. “Do you?” 

“No. I don’t.” Phryne stood up, suddenly, and walked over to the mantelpiece. “So alert Russell Street. Get every Constable in the city out there looking for him!”

“We can’t do that. The Inspector is sure there are several cops on the take. This whole operation has been need to know. Some higher ups at Russell Street and a few of the Inspector’s top men at City South. If we tell everyone now…”

“You might alert the moles and he’s as good as dead anyway.” She turned away from Hugh, focusing very intently on the mantelpiece, and ignoring the empty space beside her where Jack so often stood. “So he’s almost certainly with these Fleeters, and you have no idea where that is… what have you done so far?”

“I searched the Inspector’s office looking for any clues as to his whereabouts.” A wan smile momentarily graced his face. “I don’t think he’ll be too happy about the state of it when he returns.”

“He’ll get over it,” Phryne assured him, turning around and facing Hugh once more. “You didn’t find anything, I assume.”

“Just the, uh, telegram. Sergeant Baker’s already searched the flat in Carlton too. Nothing there either.”

“I see. And his home?”

“His home?”

“I assume you’ve searched his home.”

Hugh shook his head. “He’s been staying in Carlton.”

“But six weeks, Hugh, he’d surely sneak home at some point. What about his roses?” She was pacing now, agitated and spinning slightly.

“His…?"

“His roses, Hugh! Hasn’t he ever told you about his roses?”

Hugh shook his head again and stood up, trying to follow both her movements and her train of thought. When she spun around again and faced him, he took a startled step back.

“Alright, so that’s stop number one.” A question occurred, though she didn’t know if she wanted the answer. “How much time do we have before Echols tracks down the other Fleeters?”

“Apparently he told a fellow inmate his first plan was to find, uh,” Hugh coughed, “female companionship. Of the paid variety.” And bless him, Hugh still blushed as he said it. For some reason the normalcy of his reaction calmed her, and Phryne took a deep breath. 

“Right. So assuming he needed to secure some funds and then find company, Echols is likely still occupied, but the clock is very much ticking.” She looked at the time again. “I just need to make a quick telephone call," she said, motioning towards the hall. "I'll be right back."

Standing next to the telephone, she tapped her foot impatiently on the floor as she waited to be connected. She didn't really have time for this, but also didn't want her friend to worry. Finally the call went through.

"Doctor MacMillan speaking," came a familiar voice down the line.

"Hello Mac! Bad news, I'm afraid. I'm going to need to cancel drinks this afternoon. Something rather urgent has come up."

Mac let out an annoyed sigh. "Phryne Fisher, I swear, if that urgent thing has impossible cheekbones and a warrant card..."

She wasn't totally wrong, but she also wasn't totally accurate, and in the moment Phryne didn't feel like explaining the difference.

"Sorry to disappoint, darling, just a case. But it is time sensitive, so I really must dash. I'll make it up to you I promise."

Mac grunted into the receiver, but didn't argue the point. Phryne was about to sign off when a thought occurred.

"Mac, a quick question - in your time as the coroner, have you had any run-ins with a gang calling themselves the Second Fleet?"

Mac was quiet for a moment. "I have, actually. There was a gang war that broke out a few weeks after you left - well, if you can even call it a war. More like an invasion. The Second Fleet wanted another gang's territory and just sort of... eradicated them. The whole thing was over in a month, but the bodies that crossed my table during that time..." Mac trailed off, no witty remark or snide aside on her lips, and the silence unsettled Phryne more than any description possibly could. A loud inhalation of air broke the silence.

"Jesus, Phryne, you haven't gotten yourself mixed up with them already have you? Less than a day back in the country and you've already found the worst of the worse. Promise me you'll stay clear of them."

"Mac, I - "

"Promise me!" Mac's tone was unsurprisingly adamant and quite surprisingly emotional. Phryne hated to lie to her friend, so she didn't.

"I can't do that, Mac. But I can promise to be as careful as possible. And I have Hugh with me. Alright?"

"Not even close to alright. But seeing as how it's the best offer I'm likely to get, it will have to do." She paused again. "I don't want you on my table, Phryne - don't you dare let it come to that."

Phryne coughed, suddenly desperate to ease the tension. "Hell of a pep talk, Mac. But don't worry, I won't. I can promise that too. I will be fine and I’ll talk to you soon."

And with that she hung up the telephone and went back to collect Hugh.

The poor thing was strung so tight, he jumped a foot in the air when she poked her head in the doorway.

"Ready?" she asked.

He nodded, following her out into the foyer.

Phryne turned to grab her keys when a noise in the kitchen caught her attention. A moment later Mr Butler appeared. 

"Mr Johnson and Mr Yates have arrived with the rest of your baggage, Miss. Shall I ask them to bring your trunks through to the parlour before they leave?"

"Actually..." Phryne rushed into the kitchen, Hugh hot on her heels. When she arrived Cec and Bert were both leaning against the counter, scones in hand.

"Don't go anywhere boys, I'm hiring you for the day. Hugh and I need a ride."

"You don't have to hire - "

"What's the job?" Bert cut in, clearly not feeling as altruistic as his partner in the moment.

With a glance to Hugh, Phryne decided to just lay her cards on the table. Today was not the day to be coy. "Inspector Robinson is in serious danger and we need to find him. Fast." 

Her tone must have conveyed her concern because Bert's face softened, just a fraction, and he gave a nod in response. "Alright then."

"When do we leave, Miss?" Cec asked.

"Just as soon as I grab some supplies from upstairs." She made to leave, but stopped in the doorway and turned around. "I should be honest, I don't know where we'll end up today. Definitely rough. Probably dangerous. Possibly very. I wouldn't even involve you, but I'm afraid the Hispano is likely to attract the wrong sort of attention and I don't have time for that."

Bert shrugged. "Reckon the cab's seen worse."

"Yeah, it sees Bert's ugly mug every day, don't it, Miss?" Cec joked, clearly trying to make Phryne smile. It didn't work, but she appreciated the effort all the same.

"I'll be right back," she said instead, and went upstairs to prepare as best she could for a situation she wasn't prepared for in the least.


	2. Chapter 2

Normally, Phryne liked to stand out in a crowd. This search for Jack, however, was filled with nothing but unknowns and she decided perhaps today it was best to just blend in. She spent less than two minutes choosing a new ensemble she determined was neutral enough for whatever the day threw at her - sensible t-strap Mary Janes and a black skirt with sheer overlay black and maroon blouse that was neither flashy nor dowdy - and another two arming herself in a manner she hoped was adequate. When Phryne returned downstairs, less than five minutes after she’d left, it was to find the kitchen empty, save Mr Butler.

“They’re all waiting in the cab, Miss,” he explained. “I’ve sent a couple of thermoses of tea and some sandwiches along. An army marches on its stomach and all that.”

Phryne smiled in thanks. “Mr B, Napoleon wouldn’t have stood a chance against you.”

“Nor you, Miss.” He tilted his head and looked her firmly in the eye. “You remember that.”

She nodded, grateful for the support and the provisions, then turned and walked outside.

It was a warm day, the sun shining, and Phryne watched the people in her neighborhood go about their lives as she quickly made her way down to the cab. The ride to an unassuming cottage in Richmond was quiet, except for the directions Hugh occasionally gave the cabbies. Phryne used the opportunity to look over Marty Echols' file. Several arrests, no convictions, save the assault Jack has arrested him on, which made sense given what Hugh had said about the gang so far. She looked at his photo - he had a distinctive scar on the left side his face. She examined it closely. Probably a knife wound. She wondered where he had received it, whether he had given out any of the same. When they arrived at Jack’s house, Phryne was first out the car. 

Moving up the walk, she noticed the roses immediately, pruned and tended as she knew they would be. She smiled slightly to herself as she continued her brisk pace to the front door. If Jack knew the world was to end tomorrow, he would still tend his rose bushes today.

As she reached the front door, Hugh caught up to her. She pulled out her lock picks and looked at him, expecting an argument of some kind. That all he did was stand guard handily and horribly underscored the seriousness of the situation, and caused her hands to tremble minutely as she worked. She tried not to think about what Hugh’s boss might have to say about the situation. She knew what she was doing was crossing a line, but she hoped Jack would understand anyway. And if he didn’t… well he could be as mad at her as he liked. Mad and alive was far preferable to the alternative. With a small click, the lock gave way and within moments she and Hugh were both inside.

She had never been inside Jack’s house before, except in her mind when he would describe something or other during one of their nightcaps. The floorboard that somehow creaked in a new spot every time. The large wooden table in his kitchen that he’d built himself. The library he’d amassed over nearly three decades of collecting, and which might even contain some works with false covers. The window that overlooked his garden.

“What are we looking for, Miss?” Hugh asked, interrupting her thoughts.

“Anything related to the Fleeters or the last six weeks,” she suggested, though what that might be she had no idea.

She passed the library quickly; no books were out of place and she didn’t have time to search each one individually. She didn’t even have time to register the titles, the way she had always imagined she would on her first visit. Gaining new knowledge from his tastes in literature to tease him, test him, know him. There’s simply wasn’t enough time for that.

She resolutely ignored the voice in her head that wondered if there would be enough time for any of it.

A cursory search of the common areas including the kitchen revealed nothing, and it was obvious from the lack of food that the Inspector had not been home often during his assignment. Sighing at the lack of useful information so far, Phryne sent Hugh to check the study and headed towards the bedroom to search that herself.

Once there, however, she paused at the threshold, knowing she was about to cross another line. A little part of her was angry at him for robbing her of a proper invitation. If he hadn’t been so damn noble for so damn long, they could have gotten here the right way long before she flew away. Even as she thought it she knew she was rewriting history, but she didn’t much care; being angry was much preferable to being scared. 

_Fuck it_ , she thought, and stepped through. 

It was a small room, smaller than her bedroom anyway, but warm and comfortable and very much Jack. A place for everything and everything in its place. She ran her hand over the doona on the bed, the fabric soft against her hand. As she did, she noticed a stack of papers on the bedside table. Walking over to investigate, her breath caught in her throat. 

They were hers.

All the letters and telegrams and postcards she had sent on her travels. She’d begun sending them to his home instead of his office after he’d called them “incendiary” and then added in the postscript to “please send more.” They were neatly stacked, though clearly well read. He had told her he missed her, of course, but to see the evidence, to remember how he’d come after her in the only way he could... She sat on the edge of the bed and picked them up, tears threatening to spill for the first time that day. She remembered writing each one, coming after him in return. She looked through them ideally, imagining Jack reading them in bed, her words the last he saw before sleep. 

The image was so sweet she wanted to scream. 

Instead, she shook her head to clear her imaginings - they were foolish and currently a waste of valuable time; sentimentality would not find Jack today. She would.

She stood and moved to return the letters when something caught her eye. Scribbling on one of the envelopes, in a hand not her own. In an almost illegible hand in fact, like someone had written it in the middle of the night and didn’t want to forget. Five words.

_Thirsty Cobbler_

_Peter Dean_

_Enforcer?_

Phryne quickly turned the envelope over to examine the date she had sent it. Doing some rough math she concluded Jack should have received it four weeks ago. Well into his case and so almost certainly connected. After checking to make sure there were no more notes on any of the other correspondence, she pulled the letter from the envelope in question, carefully replacing it on the stack, and flew out of the room towards parlour.

“Hugh! Hugh, I have something.”

Hugh met here there a moment later, shaking his head to indicate he had not been as successful.

She showed him the note on the back of the envelope.

“Any idea what it means?”

“No, Miss. But I could call the station. See if the name has come up.”

“Do it,” she ordered, pointing to the telephone in the hallway.

Hugh nodded and quickly moved towards the stand. As he did, Phryne took another look around the space, slightly more deliberately now she at least had one lead. As she turned, she saw something familiar by the front door.

Two pegs on the wall, one holding a long grey coat, the other a dark brown fedora.

She moved towards them slowly, reverently. She skimmed a hand down the coat, the feel of the fabric familiar against her skin. She reached for the fedora, but couldn’t bring herself to take it off the peg. 

_He doesn’t have his armour,_ she thought, a brief jolt of panic running through her body at the idea.

“He didn’t want to use them for the assignment.”

Hugh’s statement startled her, and Phryne spun around quickly, almost guiltily if she was anyone else.

“He said Archie Mills wouldn’t own something that nice,” he continued, nodding towards Jack’s hat. “Between you and me, I think he just didn’t want anything to happen to it.” 

Phryne shook her head and shut her eyes against the myriad images of what harm might befall her Inspector’s head.

“Of course. Any news on Peter Dean?”

“Sergeant Baker recognized the name. Thinks he’s been linked to the Fleeters a few times, but doesn’t believe he’s too far up. More of an… independent contractor.”

“Well he’s the best lead we have. Let’s find him and see what he has to say.”

Hugh nodded and moved towards the door. Phryne followed him, her eyes drawn back to the coat and fedora as she did. The panic she had felt before hardened into a steely resolve; if he didn’t have his armour, she would be his weapon instead.

After locking the house back up, she and Hugh made their way down the walk and to the cab where Cec and Bert were waiting.

Cec jumped to open the door for Phryne. “Where to, Miss?”

“Have either of you two ever heard of a man named Peter Dean or something called the _Thirsty Cobbler_?” she asked.

Bert stubbed out his cigarette and nodded his head. “Don’t know the Dean fellow, but the second one’s a pub down by the docks. Not near as nice at the name suggests.”

“Too bad - it appears that is our next stop.”

Bert nodded and climbed in the cab, starting up the engine and maneuvering the car out into the street once everyone was inside.

Phryne turned around and took one final look at Jack’s home as they drove away. Silently she made a promise to the house and to herself - she would be back, soon, and as an invited guest.

\---------------------

The _Thirsty Cobbler_ was not, in fact, as nice as the name implied. It was a rundown pub located towards the dicier end of the docks, with at least one broken window and another with a crack that would surely be giving up the fight soon.

Bert parked the cab halfway down the block, and the foursome surveyed the area around the pub.

“Not too much foot traffic,” Phryne noted.

“Most of the clientele is probably still at work,” Bert surmised. 

Nodding, Phryne opened her door and stepped out onto the sidewalk. When Hugh made to follow her, she stopped him. “Actually, Hugh, I think perhaps you should stay in the car this time. A copper isn’t likely to get tongues wagging in a place like this.”

Hugh shook his head. “Miss, with all due respect, I’m not sending you in there without backup.”

“I have backup,” she assured him cheerfully, nodding to Cec and Bert who now stood behind her on the sidewalk. 

Hugh looked conflicted, and finally Phryne took pity on him if for no other reason than to get things moving again.

“Alright, you wait here five minutes. If none of us have returned in that time, you come in. Fair?”

Hugh clearly saw the futility in continuing to argue, so he just nodded and closed the cab door with himself inside.

Phryne took a deep breath and then led the cabbies into the _Thirsty Cobbler._

It wasn’t any nicer inside, but there were at least people, which was progress as far as Phryne was concerned. A few of the patrons noted their entrance, but besides a lascivious glance or two in Phyrne’s direction, didn’t really pay them any mind. 

Cec leaned down to speak quietly to the other two. “So do you think this Dean fellow’s here?”

“No idea,” Phryne admitted. “But Jack seemed to think there was a link, so it’s the best lead we have.” The three took a table near the door where they could survey the room. “I should also mention, Jack wrote “enforcer” with a question mark under Peter Dean’s name.”

“So he’s a strongarm for the Fleeters?”

“Possibly. See any likely candidates?” she asked.

Bert tilted his head towards the bar. “Tall bloke, hunched over next to a beer. He looks mean enough.”

Phryne nodded. “Could be. Want to go strike up a conversation?” Bert grunted in the affirmative and moved toward the bar. As he did, Phryne looked around the room, observing each person, carefully registering her first impressions before moving on to the next. She’d considered and discarded half the bar when she stopped, her eyes focusing on a stout man sitting alone in a booth before she even knew why. Phryne took him in; flat cap, patched up coat, beer in hand, scowl on face. He didn’t look much different than the other patrons and for a moment Phryne doubted her instincts. 

Luckily it only lasted a moment.

“His hands,” she muttered.

“What?” Cec turned away from his own observations to follow Phryne’s gaze.

“Look at his hands. The knuckles are raw, like he’s used them recently on someone’s face. But he’s not favouring them, so it’s likely this isn’t an uncommon occurrence.” She turned back to her companion. “I think perhaps we’ve found our enforcer, Cec.”

“How can you be sure, Miss?”

“Well, I was thinking of just going over and asking,” she said with a wink, standing and turning in the direction of the man in question. Glancing at the clock on the wall she walked straight towards him before Cec could protest. Today didn’t allow for the luxury of subtle; time for the direct approach. 

She stopped in front of the man’s table, leaning over just slightly. “Excuse me… are you Peter Dean?”

“Who’s asking?” He regarded her suspiciously from behind his beer. 

“A friend,” she simpered. “Perhaps a very good friend, if you’re interested.” She pointed at the empty section of booth next to him. “That seat taken?”

He put down his glass and looked Phryne up and down, an oily grin now plastered on his red face. “It is now, love.”

Phryne flashed him a loaded smile and slide into the booth.

Dean picked up his beer again and took a long sip. When he finished, he wiped his hand across his mouth and grinned at her. “Well, if this ain’t my lucky day. Buck send you over? If so, he’s bought himself another week.” His meaty hand was on her thigh, gripping it almost painfully, and sliding up before he’d finished the sentence.

Phryne clucked her tongue at him, and, with some difficulty, removed his hand. Then she shifted her body, ostensibly to turn towards him, but also to put a bit of distance between them. 

“Unfortunately for Buck, I’m actually here for information.”

“Oh yeah? On what, sweetheart?” Dean asked, his face smug with a hint of real curiosity.

“The Second Fleet.”

In an instant his expression turned cold.

“Never heard of ‘em,” he said, turing back to his beer. “Now fuck off.”

“No thank you, I’m quite comfortable where I am. And I have it on good authority that you work for the Fleeters. Which means we’re going to talk. _Now_. I need to find them.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because they took something from me. Something I _will_ be getting back.” She leaned back in the both and raised her chin slightly. “I’m prepared to negotiate with them if necessary, but if they can’t be reasonable,” she shrugged, but didn’t break eye contact with Dean, “I’m also prepared to go through them.” 

And with that Phryne took the gun she had hidden in her purse and placed it on the booth between them. “One by one if necessary.”

Dean eyed the gun a little nervously, but he didn’t waiver.

“Look here you dumb bint, take your toy pistol and get lost before I get really mad and make you regret it.”

“Does this mean _you’re_ not prepared to be reasonable?”

Dean turned to face her fully, his face red and contorted in anger. “I said -”

His protest died on his lips as Phryne shoved the gun in his crotch.

“The only thing I want to hear from you, Mr. Dean, is where I can find the Fleeters. Anything else is extraneous to this conversation and a waste of my time.”

“You’re going to shoot me? Here, in a pub full of people?”

“If necessary. Or you could just tell me and I’ll be on my way.”

Dean raised his hand as though to strike her, and Phryne pushed the gun that much further into his flesh. 

“This gun has what’s called a hair trigger - perhaps best not to startle me.”

“You’re crazy!”

“I’m not interested in your assessment of my mental stability - just an address.”

“How are you going to find the Fleeters in jail?’ he asked, trying a new tactic. Phryne glanced at the clock once again and then smiled at Dean, looking completely unconcerned. A moment later, as if on cue, Hugh Collins entered the bar.

When Dean saw him, he made to get his attention, but Phryne was faster, waving at Hugh and receiving a wave in return. As he began to walk towards them, Phryne shook her head and Hugh stopped, moving to sit over with Cec instead.

“As you can see, Mr. Dean, I’ve already got the Victorian Constabulary as my personal security force. So yes, I am fully prepared to shoot you in this pub. I suspect no one will remember who was where in the ensuing panic, and should you survive…” she offered a callous shrug, “well, who’s anyone going to believe? Some two bit thug or a respectable woman alone in a dangerous town who the police have cleared of all suspicion?”

Dean’s eyes widened in fear, realizing finally the resolve of the woman sitting beside him.

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” he hissed. “They’re dangerous people!”

“I’m dangerous people, Mr. Dean, and I assure you, right now I am the much greater threat.” He didn’t say anything, but looked utterly conflicted. “You have until the count of five to give me an address. After that, I secure you a position with the Vienna Boys' Choir. One. Two. Three. Four -”

“I don’t know!”

“Not what I want to hear, Mr. Dean.” Phryne cocked the gun and Dean turned pale.

“I don’t,” he insisted. “They don’t tell me, just send me messages when they need a job done.”

Phryne sighed dramatically and stiffened her grip.

“But I know who does!” he added quickly.

“Who?” she demanded. 

“Eddie Wright. He’s the bloke who hires me. He’s high up, always knows how to reach the bosses; he takes care of their… problems. Permanently.”

“He’s their hit man,” she said, looking for confirmation.

Dean nodded. “I can give you his address.”

With her free hand, Phryne took a pen out of her purse and tossed it at Dean. She nodded at the beer coaster on the table and he scribbled down an address in Carlton.

Phryne picked it up, then placed it and the pen in her purse. She removed the gun from Dean’s groin, but kept it trained on him.

“You’d better be telling me the truth, Mr. Dean, because if you’re not, if you’re lying about even one detail, I promise you, there will be no safe haven for you on this earth. I will find you. And I will destroy you.”

Then she stood and nodded at the table where her compatriots were waiting, Hugh and Cec having been rejoined by Bert sometime during her showdown with Dean. Without a second glance at Dean, she left the pub, the other three quick on her heels.

When she was back in the cab, she handed the coaster to Cec. “Next stop,” she instructed.

Hugh looked over at her. “How’d you get him to talk, Miss?”

“Power of the feminine, Hugh,” she explained with a tight smile, then stared silently out the window, the fear in Peter Dean's eyes replaying in her mind for the rest of the trip.


	3. Chapter 3

The address turned out to be a four story boarding house in one of Carlton’s rougher neighbourhoods. Once the four of them were out of the car, Phryne started to move towards the building, but Hugh stopped her.

“I don’t think we should just barge in, Miss. We don’t know what to expect. If this fella’s one of the Second Fleet bosses… I think we need backup.”

“We have backup,” she insisted, pointing to Cec and Bert impatiently. She was getting tired of having this argument.

“No, Miss. Let me call the station, get a couple of the lads down here.” He gestured to a grocer across the street who would almost certainly have a telephone. “We can be ready in 15 minutes.”

“Jack may not _have_ 15 extra minutes,” she countered, her voice laced with a hint of panic she was too upset to worry about the others hearing.

“Please, Miss,” he almost begged, “the Inspector would never forgive me if I let you rush in and something happened.” 

_He looks so young_ , Phryne thought suddenly, her heart squeezing a little at the desperation in his eyes.

Phryne took a deep breath and tilted her head toward the store. “Go. We’ll wait here.” Hugh nodded and ran towards the grocer’s.

Phryne hated to lie to Hugh, but she did it anyway, waiting until he was out of sight before nodding to Cec and Bert and making her way down the street and into the boarding house. 

A quick glance at the post boxes indicated Eddie Wright lived on the top floor, and the trio made their way quickly up the stairs. When they arrived, Phryne put her ear to the door. She shook her head at the other two, indicating she didn’t hear anything, then took a chance and knocked.

Receiving no response, Phryne took her lock picks out and went to work. A moment later the three were inside, and could confirm that no one was home. Phryne kicked a chair in frustration.

“Damn!”

Cec ran a hand through his hair. “There’s a pub around the corner, Miss, I saw it as we arrived. I could go make some discreet inquiries, see if that’s where he’s doing business.”

“Good idea. Bert should go with you.”

“Miss, I -”

“No arguments, Cec. You’re in much more need of backup at a pub in this neighborhood than I am in an empty flat.”

Both cabbies looked like they wanted to debate the point some more, but Phryne’s expression seemed to set them straight. After a moment, they left, and Phryne was alone.

Extracting some gloves from her purse, Phryne put them on and began searching the main room, looking for anything that might lead her to the Fleeters’ current location. Not finding anything after a few minutes, she slammed a drawer shut in frustration. She couldn’t shake the fear that she would find him too late, or worse, would never find him at all. Her eyes scanned the room once more looking for something, anything she could use to locate him.

There was a knife on the table, banged up and obviously oft used. Not well cared for, much like its victims she expected. Looking closer, she saw a smudge of dried blood on the blade and for a moment her vision swam. She had a sudden horrible image of that knife being used on Jack and had to turn her face away as she fought the urge to grab it, run from the room, and toss it in the Yarra where it could never hurt anyone again. It was ridiculous of course; if he’d not yet used it on Jack she’d see that he never did and if he had… she’d plunge that knife so far into his gut no one would ever find it. 

She took a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself and immediately regretted it.

The room held a myriad of smells, some of which she could identify, many of which she could not, though she didn’t mind that particular ignorance. Feeling a little ill, she moved over to the large window on the opposite wall and threw it open, breathing in the fresh air and clearing her head. She was staring down at the alley the window overlooked, debating her next move, when she heard a key in the door.

Phryne looked around quickly for somewhere, anywhere, to hide, but there was nothing, and before she could get out either her dagger or her gun the door was open and a man was walking inside.

Eddie Wright had jet black hair, pale skin, a long, drawn face and a tight mouth. The overall effect was somewhat ghoulish, which Phryne found morbidly funny, given his profession. He wasn’t particularly tall, but his build and stature gave the impression of mass; he was the definition of massive.

He was also furious.

“Who the hell are you?” he yelled, spittle flying out of his mouth as he spoke.

“A potential client,” she replied, projecting as best she could an air of unaffected indifference.

“How’s that?”

“I need to recover something from your bosses. If you help me, I can pay you quite a bit of money.”

“My bosses.”

“The Second Fleet. I need to find them. Fast. And you’re going to help me.”

Eddie offered a derisive snort in response.

“You got a pair on you, lady, I’ll give you that.”

“Thank you. Perhaps I’ll let you borrow them if you prove helpful enough.”

A snarl from his lips was Phryne’s only warning that Eddie was done talking.

He lunged at her quite suddenly, moving faster across the room than Phryne would have thought possible given his size. She planted her back foot in the hope of throwing off his attack, and put up her arms in defence. In response, Eddie tried to avoid her arms entirely, hitting her in the solar plexus, hard, and even as she struggled for breath, Phryne instinctively countered with a modified floating hip maneuver that sent Eddie flying forward.

Straight through the open window.

Spinning fast on her heels, Phryne managed to catch him before he fell, half his large body balanced outside the frame, the other half inside and held by the woman he had just attacked. He was too far out to pull himself back, and was only stopped from falling forward by her grip on his trousers. Phryne made a move to pull him back in, then stopped.

She finally had leverage. Literally.

From his position outside the window, Eddie grunted. “Pull me up!”

She called back to him, her voice light even as she worked to hold him in place. “You know, I don’t think I will.”

Eddie began to struggle against her grip, but only succeeded in moving further out the window, and so stopped. He turned his head as best he could and yelled back to Phryne. “Pull me up, you crazy bitch!”

“Calling me names won’t get you inside any faster, Eddie, and it won’t endear you to me either. Best to be quiet and listen, I think.”

Eddie tried a different tact.

“Pull me in and we can talk,” he offered, in what Phryne assumed was an attempt to be charming.

“No, I think we’ll talk right here. You tell me where I can find the Second Fleet, right now, or I drop you out this window.”

Eddie snorted. “Is that right?”

“Oh it absolutely is,” she said, her voice gaining an icy tone. 

“You’re out of your depth, lady! You don’t have the nerve.”

Phryne let a cold smile move slowly over her face. “It’s a long way down, Eddie, are you sure you want to test your theory?”

Eddie looked around, becoming more desperate the longer he stayed suspended in the air. “Help! Someone help me!” he screamed.

Phryne’s smile never wavered. 

“No one can hear you. Or nobody cares. Either way, it’s either talk to me or prepare to take a very fast route to the ground floor.”

Eddie craned his neck and looked at her as best he could, his expression contemptuous.

“You’re bluffing!”

Phryne raised an eyebrow, the smile getting both wider and colder. “You play poker, Eddie?” she asked. He grunted in the affirmative. “Then I assume you know all about bluffs.” 

Eddie didn’t respond this time, so Phryne shook him a little, visibly scaring him. “Nod so I know you heard me,” she instructed, and Eddie nodded quickly.

“Good boy. You see, you can bluff in poker because the stakes aren’t high enough. Money, even quite a lot of money, is just money. And right now, I assure you, you can’t even imagine how high the stakes actually are. You can bluff in poker, Eddie. Do you know when you don’t bluff? When you have a man dangling out a window.”

By now Eddie was clawing at the air as he tried to gain any kind of hold. Phryne watched him, her smile gone and her expression a mask of righteous, if momentarily restrained, fury. Then, with great effort and steadfastly ignoring the pain she still felt in her abdomen from their fight, she maneuvered his legs so he could look back in the window. 

“I need you to look into my eyes, Eddie. _I’m. Not. Bluffing_. I am absolutely prepared to drop you from this window to your death right now. So the only question is, what are you prepared to do?”

Eddie looked at her for a long moment. Then something in him seemed to snap. 

“I’ll tell you,” he said quietly.

“You’ll tell me now,” she ordered.

He nodded. “There’s a warehouse, down by the docks, between Lonsdale and Bourke. Red front door, three shuttered windows. That’s where they are. Now, pull me in. Please!”

Phryne didn’t move. The weight of him was beginning to strain her arms and she felt her grip beginning to weaken, but a thought wouldn’t leave her mind; it would be so easy to just let him fall. Even if she did find Jack in time, if the Fleeters figured out who he was they’d probably send Eddie after him eventually. She could stop that right now. Stop him from hurting anyone else. Another killer off the street, perhaps a loved one she could save this time. 

Would it really be so wrong?

“Please,” he called again, and suddenly her mind went to another man, another ‘please’. She shut her eyes against the memory and tightened her grip on Eddie.

She still didn’t know if it would be wrong, but she knew it wouldn’t be right. And that had to be enough for now.

“You’re not worth the street cleaner’s time,” she spat. “But if I find you were lying to me, I promise you, Eddie, you’ll wish I had dropped you.”

She began to maneuver him again, this time back into the building. She had just pulled him in when the door burst open, Hugh Collins rushing in, followed quickly by Bert and Cec.

“Miss! Are you alright?” Hugh was clearly far more concerned with her safety than that she had deceived him, and in the moment she found herself fervently hoping he would never change.

“Fine, Hugh, though you’ll probably want to have a chat with Eddie here.”

What happened next happened so fast none of them saw it coming - Eddie leapt forward, rushed past all three men, knocking both Bert and Cec to the floor, and flew out the door. 

Phryne assessed the situation in less than a moment. “Hugh! You have to catch him,” Phryne yelled. “Before he lets the Fleeters know we’re coming!”

Hugh nodded, then ran out the door and down the stairs, entirely focused on catching his man. He was two floors down when Phryne leaned over the rail outside Eddie Wright’s door. “Hugh!” He stopped and looked up. “Eddie Wright is a professional killer. Watch your back and be careful. _Please_.”

Hugh nodded again and then continued his pursuit.

Phryne slammed her hand on the railing in frustration. She should help Hugh. But she had no idea how much time Jack had before Marty Echols arrived to blow his cover. In theory, the backup Hugh had requested from City South should be here any minute, but still... She made a decision and whirled around to face Bert.

“I hate to ask, but - ”

Bert nodded. “No problem, Miss, I ain’t gonna let anything happen to him - Dottie’d never let me hear the end of it.” He tossed a sly grin to Phryne and the cab keys to Cec, then took off running down the stairs to follow Hugh and Eddie. Phryne turned back to Cec.

“Afraid we need to go as well.”

“Right, Miss.” Together they rushed down the stairs and into the cab. Phryne directed him to the address Eddie had provided and then tried not to imagine the worst on the ride over. Faster than she would have thought possible, but still slower than she wanted, they arrived. 

There it was, just as Eddie had described: warehouse, red front door, three shuttered windows. Phryne took a deep breath and opened her door. When Cec made to do the same, she placed a hand on his shoulder. 

“I should go alone,” she said.

Cec turned around to stare at her incredulously. 

“All due respect, Miss, but that’s a terrible plan.”

Phryne shook her head. “This isn’t me being rash, Cec, this is calculated. I don’t know what I’m walking into there, but I do know if you’re with me, we’ll seem like a threat, and frankly we won’t stand a chance. But, as a woman alone, they’ll assume I’m harmless.”

“They’d be wrong.” 

Phryne smiled at Cec’s faith in her. It was a small smile, but it was real, and in the moment Phryne was ever so grateful for her kind and constant friend.

“Thank you, Cec,” she said softly. Then, in a more no nonsense tone, continued, “Find the back door to this place and get the cab as close as possible. If we’re leaving in a hurry it will probably be out the back and we’ll likely need a quick exit.”

Cec nodded, and after Phryne stepped outside onto the sidewalk, drove the cab around the block, following her orders.

Phryne surveyed the door. It looked ordinary. That made sense, she supposed, hiding in plain sight. She had just begun walking towards it, slowly but naturally, when she spotted him, about 10 feet from the warehouse entrance. The scar on his face was unmistakable.

Marty Echols.

Phryne’s heart stopped. She was too late. After all that, she was too late. He would enter and identify Jack, they would kill him, bury him under some trees at the head of the river -

_No._

No, she wouldn’t let them. Phryne began walking faster, surreptitiously lifting her skirt higher to grab her dagger. She wouldn’t kill him, just wound him. A glancing blow would disable him and then she could knock him out. Get in, get Jack, get out. She could avoid any major arteries. Almost certainly. She could _do this._ She’d just touched the handle when Echols suddenly stepped off the kerb. Crossed the street. And walked into the pub that was sat opposite the warehouse.

Phryne sucked in a breath, surprised to realize she hadn’t taken one since she’d seen Echols’ face. She looked between the door and the pub. Either Echols was there to have a drink, in which case she had a little time, or else he was there to buy a bottle to bring with him for an impromptu welcome home party, in which case she had much less. She rushed across the street to see which one it was.

Phryne slipped into the pub quietly, standing unobserved by the door, her eyes quickly adjusting to the dimmer light. She saw Echols standing by the counter, talking to the bartender. He looked impatient.

_Damn!_

Phryne bit her bottom lip and went over her options. They were limited, and she cursed again under her breath. As she did a waitress walked by, looking tired and frustrated; Phryne recognized the feeling. Thinking fast, she gently grabbed the young woman by the arm to stop her.

The waitress scowled at Phryne, though her expression became more curious as Phryne opened her purse.

“Do you see the man talking to the bartender? The one with the salt and pepper hair and the scar on his face?”

The young woman spared a quick glance toward the bar and then turned back to Phryne nodding.

“Here’s a pound.” To the waitress’ surprise, Phryne shoved the note in the girl’s hand. “If you can delay him five minutes, there’s another one in it for you tomorrow. Deal?”

“Alright,” she agreed.

Phryne tilted her head, an idea quickly forming. “And I’ll need your shawl.” The younger woman looked confused, but handed the moth eaten garment over anyway. When she made to walk away, Phryne touched her arm once more. “He’s a dangerous man - be careful.” The waitress gave a terse nod, and Phryne gave a sigh of relief that her warning would not be ignored.

Standing in the shadows, Phryne grabbed her dagger again and used it to cut her skirt so it fell just above her knees, and her blouse so it showed considerably more décolletage. She glanced around and, finding a cup with some water in it on a nearby table, Phryne used it to splash a bit on her face, mussing her makeup, and to matte down her hair. She used her thumb to smear her lipstick a bit, and a small voice in her head told her for some reason that mattered, but she was too focused on the task to pay it any mind. A splash of beer from the dregs of a nearby pint glass effectively masked her perfume and completed the effect. 

It would have to do.

Pulling the borrowed shawl around her shoulders, Phryne stepped outside. Then she crossed the street, steeled herself, and pounded on the red front door.


	4. Chapter 4

Receiving no answer, Phryne waited just a moment, then pounded again. This time the door swung open, a stout man with a gun in his waistband glaring at her.

“What do you want?” he growled.

Phryne ignored his question and pushed past him.

“Where is he? I know he’s here!” she yelled, her accent pure Collingwood.

There were men all around. Upon her entrance, several stood and a few put their hands on a weapon, but none went so far as to draw it or move closer - she was, as she suspected, more of a curiosity at this point than a perceived threat. Good. She could work with that.

“Who?” the man growled again, grabbing her arm this time.

“Archie Mills, who’d ya think?” she spat, ripping her arm out of his grip. She looked around the warehouse, a large open room with a number of tables, and boxes stacked high on every side. “Archie! Archie, where the hell are you?”

As she shouted, Phryne followed the stout man’s gaze to the back of the room where she finally, for the first time in four long months and an even longer two hours, saw Jack Robinson.

She saw the surprise register in his gaze, but only because she knew him so well and it never traveled past his eyes; he really was excellent undercover. 

He was wearing a suit, shinier and showier than his regular wool sets, and his hair was less pomaded than normal. His posture was relaxed and there were several ledgers spread out before him. A smile spread over his face, lascivious and smug.

“Fern, darlin! What are you doing here?”

She glared at him, daggers shooting from her eyes. “You know damn well why I’m here. You think you can screw me and then _screw me_ , Archie? You owe me 15 and 9 and I’m not leaving until I get it.”

Jack shrugged and leaned back in his seat. “An oversight, love. Come back tonight and you’ll get double.” 

“How did you find us?” a voice from her left asked. Phryne spared a glance. He was seated, glass of some brown liquid in hand and no obvious tasks in front of him. A boss then. Perhaps _the_ boss.

“I followed him this morning, didn’t I?” Phryne answered, crossing her arms over her chest.

“You need to be more careful, Mills,” the boss man drawled. A warning. A threat. 

“Clearly,” Jack agreed. “But I didn’t exactly choose the route, now did I?” he asked with a pointed look to pudgy man in the corner who had the good sense to turn a little ashen at the implication.

The boss man nodded. As Phryne considered her next move, a tall thin man with a thinner mustache sidled over to her and ran his hand through her hair, tugging hard to pull her face towards him.

“Hello sweetheart. You looking to make new friends?”

Jack was on his feet and sauntering over in a moment, somehow still projecting amused indifference despite what Phryne knew would be his mounting concern for her safety. 

“Hands off, McGee,” he said, his tone still ostensibly jovial, but with a dangerous undercurrent now that the man in question heard loud and clear. “Despite her questionable manners, Fern here is my favorite. And I don’t like to share my toys.”

With a shrug, McGee moved away and Jack grabbed Phryne, roughly pulling her back towards his table, though his grip on her arm was gentle.

“Just need a moment, Mr Blake,” Jack said as he led Phryne to the back of the room. Stumbling behind him, Phryne noticed a door about 20 feet away that almost certainly led to a back alley.

It was her new goal.

Jack swung her around and pushed her up against the wall, covering her from view with his larger frame. He placed one hand on the wall beside her head and leaned down to speak quietly to her. His other arm gave the illusion that he was gripping her, holding her in place. Phryne completed the deception by thrashing slightly against him. 

“What’s happened?” he asked, voice low.

“Marty Echols is out of jail and on his way,” she whispered back. “You have about two minutes to get out of here.” 

Jack cursed softly and nodded, but looked conflicted. This had been a long operation - walking away with nothing now would cut deep.

“Are you close?” she asked.

He nodded again. “I could leave now, I think, I just…” 

He trailed off and glanced back towards the table where he had been working.

“What do you need?” she asked, voice still low even as she continued to flail.

“Red ledger,” he growled in her face; some of the other gang members had come closer to grab the boxes in the back of the warehouse and any privacy the two detectives had enjoyed thus far was about to disappear.

She looked past his shoulder to the table. Saw the ledger in question. Nodded. “Throw me.”

His eyes widened as he realized her plan, his jaw working overtime as he considered it. She saw him hesitate; this would be crossing a line of his own. 

“Now or never, Jack,” she whispered. “Echols will be here any moment.”

He took a breath, made eye contact with her. Up until now it had all been for show, but if they were to avoid suspicion, this had to be real. At her tiny nod, he suddenly bellowed, “THAT’S ENOUGH!” and hurled her in the direction of the table as gently as he could while still getting her where she needed to be.

Phryne swung her arms up as she flew across the space, making her movements as big as possible to give the illusion of true violence. She pushed the table as she made contact, grabbing the red ledger and pulling it to the floor with her. She secured it in her garter and hid it beneath her skirt before anyone could process what had happened.

A silence fell over the room.

Finally, lighting a cigar and stepping forward, the boss man in the corner spoke.

“Take out your trash, Mills, before I do it for you.”

“With pleasure, Mr Blake.”

Jack walked over to Phryne and grabbed her by the upper arm, then dragged her to the backdoor and flung it open with his free hand. 

“Give me a minute, fellas.”

He pulled the door shut behind him. As soon as it was closed he looked at her, opened his mouth.

“Later,” she said, cutting off what she knew would be questions about her well-being. “We need to go. Now!”

From behind the door there was a sound like a cheer. 

Echols was back.

Phryne grabbed Jack’s hand and rounded the closest corner. She saw the cab and pulled him towards it.

“Off we go, gentlemen,” she ordered as they rushed inside and Cec took off.

“Where to?” he asked.

“Russell Street Station,” Jack directed.

They were silent the entire ride, too much to say to say any of it. 

But Jack never let go of her hand.

\---------------------

When they arrived, Jack made to get out of the cab, but stopped when Phryne didn’t follow.

“You’re not coming?” he asked.

“I’m not exactly dressed for the occasion,” she said wryly, gesturing down at her improvised outfit. “And after four months away, this isn’t exactly how I’d like to burst back onto the scene.”

“Of course,” he said, looking a little embarrassed that he hadn’t considered it. Jack seemed to be immune to her various states of undress by now, and had forgotten that the rest of the world probably was not.

“But you’ll be alright?” she asked, extracting the ledger from under her skirt and handing it to him. She would be lying if she said that the way his eyes widened almost imperceptibly at the sight didn’t please her. 

“Of course,” he repeated, taking the ledger from her with his free hand and tucking it carefully under his arm. “I’ll probably be working on this for the better part of the day, but I’ll telephone you when I know more.”

She nodded, squeezing his hand once more before letting it go so he could run up the steps and inside. 

After a moment, Cec spoke quietly from the front. “Where to now, Miss?”

“Home, Cec. Please take me home.”

\---------------------

The first thing Phryne and Cec did upon arriving at Wardlow was track down Hugh and Bert. It turned out the two had caught up with Eddie Wright a block from his residence and, with the help of the backup Hugh had called for, had hauled him down to City South for questioning. Knowing that everyone was, for the time being at least, safe, Phryne had thanked Cec for everything and then handed him a borrowed shawl and two pounds, with instructions to deliver both to a specific waitress as soon as possible. Once he had left, she’d called Mac to let her know she was safe, and then taken herself upstairs for another long bath, an attempt to wash every part of the day away.

Jack did telephone that evening, but just to let her know that he would be working late into the night, and would, if she was amenable, call on her tomorrow. She had told him she was, and then retired for the evening, trying and failing to read the novel she had considered earlier in the day, before giving up entirely and falling into a restless night of sleep.

The next morning, Mr Butler at the market and the house to herself, she decided third time would be the charm with her book and had just settled into the parlour to read when there was a knock on the front door. A policeman’s knock.

Her heart stopped.

Shaking her head at her ridiculousness, she put the book down and moved to answer it. She opened the door just as she had for Hugh yesterday, marveling that less than 24 hours had passed between the two events.

At least it was the right policeman this time.

“Miss Fisher,” he greeted.

“Hello Jack.” She leaned on the doorframe, a small smile on her face.

“Apologies if I’m a little late.” At her confused expression he pulled a telegram out of his pocket. “Hugh gave it to me this morning.”

“Ah.” With a knowing look, she stepped aside to let him enter. 

Replacing the telegram in his pocket, Jack walked in, and she took his coat and hat to hang them up. As she did, she stopped; she couldn’t believe how casually she was holding the fedora she hadn’t been able to touch the day before.

“Everything alright?” he asked.

She shook her head and smiled at him. “Of course. Join me in the parlour?”

He nodded and followed her in, taking a seat across from her in one of the two arm chairs. As he did she noticed him looking her over, his eyes drawn immediately to the small bruise just below her left shoulder. 

He reached out to touch it, then changed his mind and pulled his hand back.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

“Don’t be,” she admonished. “I’ve had worse from a bad night of dancing. Worse still from a _good_ night of dancing. I’m fine.” She reached out and took the hand he had pulled back in her own, giving it a small squeeze before releasing it again. “Really.”

He nodded. “Well if you won’t accept my apology, I hope you’ll accept my thanks.”

She smiled. “Now that I will take, Ar- _chie_.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, I had wondered when you would bring that up.”

“Your prefered alias... how could I not? Is there a story there?”

“Not a terribly interesting one; I’d much rather discuss what happened yesterday.”

“What’s to discuss? You needed finding, we found you. Rather open and closed case, I’m afraid.”

Jack leaned back in his chair. “Mmmm. Eddie Wright told a different story, at least at first. Said a mad woman - curiously matching your description - threatened to toss him out a window.”

“At first?” she asked, leaning back herself and latching on to what she had determined to be the most important bit of information mentioned.

“He’s since changed his mind.”

“Hit men can be so fickle,” she said, waving her hand in the hair as though to indicate their inherent flightiness.

Jack nodded slowly. “And such an incident would undoubtedly harm his carefully curated reputation.”

“Undoubtedly.”

When he didn’t respond, Phryne shifted in her seat, but made no move to elaborate on said incident herself. Jack continued to watch her carefully. After a moment or two he continued.

“Another interesting tidbit: Peter Dean has left town.”

“Has he?”

“In rather a hurry too. Seems Melbourne was getting too dangerous for him.”

“Busy day for the crims of Melbourne,” she noted with false nonchalance. Jack didn’t comment, which she appreciated. But the silence stretched too long and she finally felt the need to fill it herself.

“Well you must be very busy, I don’t want to keep you,” she offered, standing as though to usher him out. Jack stood as well, but didn’t move towards the door. 

“Phryne… are you alright?”

“I told you, Jack, the arm is fine.”

“Not what I asked. We haven’t seen each other, properly, in over four months, and now after five minutes you’re practically pushing me out the door. I’ll go, of course, if you want me to, but I would like to know why.”

She hated to lie to Jack; as it turned out, she couldn’t.

She didn’t want to face him just then either, though, so she moved towards the window seat and looked out at the street instead. Jack followed her over, but kept some space between them.

“I missed you, Jack, while I was away. And I spent quite a large part of yesterday afraid I might be missing you for the rest of my life. I’m not sure I cared for the feeling.”

He was quiet for a moment before responding. “I see.”

“No, I don’t think you do.” Still facing the window, she sighed. “Yesterday was… difficult.”

“I’m sorry.” His second apology in such a short time was too much for her to ignore and she finally turned around. 

“You don’t need to be sorry, you didn’t _do_ anything, Jack. I did. Many things, as it happens, some of which I’m not particularly proud of.”

“You did what you had to do.”

“Perhaps. But I was… desperate to find you, Jack. And the implications of what I was willing to do to get you back, to the people who might have hurt you… I very nearly went much further than what I had to do.” She took a deep breath, and looked him square in the eye. “And that’s not who I want to be.”

With another sigh, she turned and sat down on the window seat. Jack tilted his head, silently asking if he could join her. She nodded and he sat down next to her.

For several long moments they sat there in silence. When Jack finally spoke, his voice was soft and just a little uncertain. “You are aware, I think, of my friendship with the Governor of City Gaol.”

Surprised by the seeming non sequitur, Phryne sat up a bit before answering. “I am.”

Jack took a deep breath. “What I don’t believe you’re aware of is that he let me in to see Murdoch Foyle the week after his sentencing. Alone.”

“I see. Why - ”

“Hanging is a comparatively merciful death, Miss Fisher. Over too quickly for the crimes one has committed to be condemned to it. And for what that man did to you, to Jane, to your sister... it was better than he deserved.” Jack looked at her, his face open, vulnerable. Phryne could see how hard this was for him to admit, and her heart clenched at his sacrifice. “I went into that room absolutely prepared to give him what he actually deserved. To make his remaining time on earth as excruciating as possible.”

Phryne dashed a rogue tear from her eye, and steadied her voice before replying to his confession. “What stopped you?” she asked, her voice quiet. She would have heard if Foyle had been injured before his execution; she was well connected too after all.

“You,” he said simply.

“You didn’t think I’d condone it?”

“Oh no, I thought you’d heartily approve. Maybe even do your share of the paperwork once in a while in gratitude.” Phryne’s responding huff and highly dubious expression made it clear how likely that was, and Jack offered her his little not-smile-smile in return before turning serious again. “I just… I just thought of _you_... and I couldn’t do it.”

She nodded. Jack reached out, hesitating again as he had with the bruise, but this time he continued, taking her hand in his.

“Love, I think, has the potential to make us both the best and worst versions of ourselves. And we have to choose, each day, which one.”

“Love, Jack?”

The smile on his face was wry, but the affection in his eyes shone as bright as a sunbeam through a freshly washed window. “I can only say for myself, Miss Fisher, I would never presume to speak for you.”

Her eyes rolled in response. “I almost threw a man out a window for you, Jack. I think we’re a bit past amicable colleagues.” She took a deep breath; time for a confession of her own. 

“The last time I was in a serious relationship, I was the weakest version of myself. Yesterday I was perhaps the cruelest. I have to wonder: is there any scenario where love makes me the best version of myself?”

“Phryne Fisher, you have many flaws: recklessness, stubbornness, audaciousness - ”

“Is this supposed to cheer me up, Jack? Because if so, your pep talks need work.”

Jack gave her that non-smile smile again which would almost certainly be the death of her and continued undeterred. “You are also the most generous, kind, extraordinary person I’ve ever met. On your worst day, you are still the best of us. And I would bet on that version of you any day of the week.”

Phryne’s eyes were annoyingly wet again and she would have blamed the lack of sleep, but she was more self-aware than that. Jack handed her a handkerchief which she used to dry them, smiling wider than she had since Hugh’s knock yesterday afternoon.

“Alright, that pep talk was actually quite good,” she admitted. Using their surprisingly still joined hands - how had she not noticed they were still holding hands - she pulled him closer until they were a mere breath apart and then closed even that gap, kissing him softly. Nothing like the airfield, but that was to be expected; that had been a goodbye and this was clearly a hello.

Eventually they pulled apart, though Phryne kept him close, still holding his hand in hers.

“So, the Fleeters,” she began, and Jack smiled fondly at her ability to switch gears so quickly. “Can you make your case?”

“The Crown Prosecutor believes so. There were simultaneous raids this morning on all of their operations. It’s early days, but I’m hopeful we’ll successfully shut them down for good this time.”

“And no one is going to come after you?”

“There’s no reason for anyone to think Archie Mills is anything but a coward who left town when things got too hot. And even if they ever do discover there was an undercover policeman in their ranks, no one will suspect me.”

Phryne’s eyes narrowed as she saw the red creep up his ears.

“Why?” she pressed.

Jack coughed. “My absence was explained, you see. The gossip mill has had me in Asia for the last six weeks, enjoying all manner of escapades with, um, you.”

She couldn’t stop the cackle that left her lips at that and he chuckled along with her.

“I didn’t start the rumour, of course, but once it took off I did instruct Collins not to correct anyone.” He shrugged. “It served a purpose at the time, but I can, of course, disabuse everyone of the idea if it bothers you.”

“Don’t you dare! I quite like it. I only wish it had been true.”

“As do I, Miss Fisher, as do I.”

Phryne reached over, suddenly, and pulled the telegram from his waistcoat pocket. She looked it over, then tsked at him and handed it back. 

“You’re late, Jack Robinson. But I am, as you so recently pointed out, a generous woman. So... would you like to stay for dinner?”

His expression was stern, except for the smile that threatened to escape from the corners of his mouth. “Miss Fisher, it’s eleven in the morning.”

“Not what I asked, Jack.”

The smile broke through and Phryne would have teased him about it, but she was quite certain she wore a matching expression on her own face.

“I think I could cope with that.”

Phryne shook her head and kissed him again, just because she could.

It really was good to be home.

\---------------------

Sunlight streamed through her bedroom window as it had all afternoon, but the angles were low now, alerting Phryne of how late in the day it really was. A glance at the clock beside her bed confirmed her suspicions.

“It’s almost six,” she murmured. “We should dress for dinner.”

“We should dress period,” Jack replied, though it didn’t really sound like he was in a hurry.

The trip to her boudoir had been filled with a number of stops along the way, like ports on an ocean voyage. They had spent time chatting on the window seat, before taking lunch in the dining room. Draughts and tea in the parlour, followed by whisky and a duet at the piano. At each stop she had expected him to take his leave, make that his final port of call. But he had not. And when she’d stopped his fingers on the piano, suggesting perhaps a spin around the floor to the gramophone instead, he’d upped the ante by reminding her that her telegram had said she was done waltzing. She’d raised the stakes again, inviting him upstairs.

He’d called. Delightfully as it turned out. 

In the end, she decided they had both won.

And now they lay together, quietly enjoying the newness of this thing between them, that was also not new at all. 

She raised her head a little to look him in the eye. “That seems like a lot of work. Maybe we can just have sandwiches in bed.”

Jack’s face was serious, save the amusement in his eyes. “I was issued an invitation, Miss Fisher. Unless you’re rescinding.”

“Not at all. But, as a man of honor, I only think it right that you bring me something.”

He cocked his head a bit. ”Like flowers?”

“Like the story of why you use Archie as your alias.”

He looked a little embarrassed at that and her desire to know increased tenfold. 

“Jaaaaaack.” She drew out his name while simultaneously drawing her nail across his hip and the dual assault was too much for him to resist. With a sigh - half pleasure, half resignation - he turned to face her. 

“When I was a child, I had a dog named Archie who went everywhere with me. He also loved to get into all manner of mischief. And when he got in trouble, I got in trouble. Over time I got used to… responding, when his name was called, and the instinct has never fully gone away. I’ve found it, useful, for undercover work.”

To her credit, Phryne was valiantly trying not to laugh, but she was only human and the chortle that eventually escaped was loud and joyful. 

“You named yourself after the dog?!” Her laughter continued unabated until he very suddenly rolled her over and underneath him. 

“Mmmmm. But I’m thinking of changing it. I run around with rather a different trouble maker these days. What do you think of ‘Miss Fisher Mills?”

She narrowed her eyes at him, even as she slid her foot up his calf. “I don’t know whether to feel proud or insulted.”

“Proud, obviously.” Decision made, he leaned down to kiss her, but as he did a rather large yawn surprised them both. 

“Bored already, Inspector?” she teased. 

He looked chagrined. “Sorry.”

Pushing him to his back again, Phryne regarded him seriously. “How late did you work the case last night?”

“We, uh, finished the last of the raid paperwork at half two I think.”

“And you were back bright and early to see it all went through properly.” It wasn’t a question. 

“Mmmm.”

“Jack, you must be exhausted! Why didn’t you tell me?”

The look he shot her was incredulous and fond; as though anything as unimportant as sleep could have kept him from her. From this. From them.

“Why don’t we take a nap, Jack?”

“But dinner - ”

“Will wait. It isn’t going anywhere.” She softened her tone and lay her head on his chest. “I’m not going anywhere. We have time.”

It was such a simple statement, but after the previous day’s anxieties it felt like a gift all the same. Jack’s response was just to gather her in his arms, making them both comfortable for sleep. 

Phryne lay there, quietly, as he began to drift off, listening to his heartbeat and drawing small, soothing circles on his shoulder. 

“Jack,” she whispered, to him, to herself. “I like this version of us.”

In response, Jack just held her that much closer. And as the low light from the window began to cast shadows across the room, they fell asleep, together. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well now that we’re at the end, let’s start at the beginning: this whole story came about because of Fire_Sign’s request for some “hard Phryne” (and I hope I have delivered on that front), like the glimpse we get during her conversation with Murdoch Foyle in _Cocaine Blues_ , and my subsequent attempt to stretch myself by writing her believably as such (I hope I have delivered on that front as well).
> 
> Thanks for sticking with this until the end and I hope you enjoyed it, even if it made a few of you nervous along the way. 😘

**Author's Note:**

> Obligatory aurora_australis story history lesson: The First Fleet was the 11 ships that departed from Portsmouth, England, on 13 May 1787 to found the penal colony that became the first European settlement in Australia.
> 
> A fizgig is a somewhat dated Australian term for a police informant and really we should all be using it.


End file.
